It's All Your Fault
by guineapigkisses
Summary: John loved his boys. Unless he'd been drinking. That's when the resentment came out, like clockwork every time. His wife gone and nothing to show for it, and it's all Sam's fault. He was why she got up that night. It was all his fault. Not that Dean will stand for it. WARNINGS! Swearing, graphic abuse. Not really Weecest/Wincest. Not really NOT Weecest/Wincest. Take it either way.
1. Chapter 1

I don't know what this thing is where I say I'm going to sleep and end up writing this shit. Anyway. Here you go.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any characters, Eric Kripke is a god and owns all domain, credit to opening quote from episode 7.03 "The Girl Next Door."

Warnings: Includes graphic child abuse and swearing. Not really Wincest or Weecest, not really a just-brothers relationship. Somewhere in between, so take it as you will.

* * *

_"Yeah, well, she has a temper. Sometimes. It's... no big deal."_

_"My dad does, too... You don't want to see him when he's drinking."_

John loved his boys. That was what he said, what he told himself when he kept moving them around. _This is for the best. Their best,_ he told himself. He loved his boys. He left them alone for weeks, even the occasional month or two at a time, he was at a bar or too buried in research when he was there and he'd missed about ninety percent of their lives, not to mention written off anything they saw as important and trained them as soldiers, not raised them as children.

He loved his boys. But he had loved his wife more.

He told Dean to save Sam that night. Save Sammy! Save your little brother, boy! Take Sammy and don't look back! Sam was the one he almost lost that night. Dean was the protector. Sam was the one to keep safe. Sam came first, he almost loved Sam more.

He almost hated Sam more.

It really depended on his mood. How his current hunt had been going or had gone, if he has struck out on hunting the demon, or whatever he had been hunting. There was no justice. There was definitely no bringing Mary back.

This particular time, he'd taken down a small vampire nest. He'd been hunting the demon, but found vampires instead. Tonight was one of those nights he hated Sam. He'd made it back to the fleabag motel he's dropped the boys off at in a day's drive. Letting the Impala idle in the parking lot, he worked his jaw furiously. A second more hesitation, he peeled out and turned tail for the nearest dive bar, and hoped Dean wasn't there hustling pool, as he tended to do for extra cash after school.

Or during school. Dean, sixteen and a sophomore going on junior, tended to drop school when it suited him, after he'd made sure Sam- who was twelve and in seventh grade, much to Dean's frustration, was in a different school down the road and Dean couldn't check in on him as regularly as he liked.

John spent a few hours at the bar, until it turned dark, or even sometime past then. He'd had time to sit and reflect, and drink, god he drank. He'd lost the demon's trail on his hunt, another strike out. The lives he saved didn't matter to him nearly as much as the one he was hoping to avenge.

By the time he got back to the motel room, nearly stumbling in, it was ten that night. Dean was watching TV and Sam was asleep on the bed next to him. When he heard the door open, Dean jumped up, one hand behind his back ready to pull out the gun he usually kept on him in the motel room, because after an incident of almost losing it at school, he didn't take it anymore. When he saw that it was John he relaxed, nodding in acknowledgement to his father, then to Sam's sleeping form as if to say, "Don't wake him up." without having to verbalize. He didn't dare tell John what to do. He just implied it.

John slammed the door shut and growled, hazy eyes falling on his youngest son. "You." he snarled.

Dean didn't like that tone. He didn't like the look he was giving a still-sleeping Sammy, "How'd the hunt go?" he asked silently, almost afraid to ask anything for fear of repercussions.

"Lost the thing's trail." John snapped, speech relaying a slight slur. That one was what woke up the younger boy. Sam's head lifted groggily, rubbing his eyes as he tried to quickly focus on the new person in the room, obviously someone Dean had acknowledged or he would have been more alarmed. "Dad...?"

Sam. This was his son. This was Sam. This was _because_ of Sam. "You!" John snarled again, this time lunging for Sam. Grabbing him by the shoulders he easily picked up the smaller boy and rammed him back against the wall, "This is _your_ fault!" he growled. Sam could smell the whiskey on his breath; it hit him like a brick wall.

Dean was first and quick on reaction, grabbing John's arms and trying to pull him off, but John only knocked him back to the floor. "This is his fault!" he shouted, shoving Sam to the floor across from Dean, glaring at him with a look of pure resentment, "She went to check on _you_ that night! She would still be alive if she hadn't! She never would have left the bedroom if you hadn't made any fucking noise!" he snapped, fists balled up at his side.

Sam looked hurt to a point it was almost painful to look at. Tears streaming down flushed cheeks he inched back away, whimpering- they may have been trained as warriors, but faced with John... It was another type of fear.

Dean was already standing himself and helping Sam up with him, the younger clinging to his brother. John went to move again and Dean put himself between the two. "Don't touch him." he said, tone controlled, but low and dangerous.

"Stand aside, Dean." John snapped

"I won't let you touch him." Dean said, fire in his eyes

John took one fluid motion and shoved Dean aside, into the small television in the room, knocking it off the dresser upon which it had been precariously placed. He took one swing at Sam and clocked his jaw, knocking him back on the floor, "She would be alive if you weren't." he said, voice dead

That was enough for Dean. He bounced back to his feet, ignoring what was probably a bruised rib or two from where he'd tumbled over the tv and the dresser, and helped Sam up. Before John could move again, Dean quickly grabbed his duffel (with everything essential for him and Sam in it and ready to go; a product of too many "Get your shit, we've gotta move" situations John had put them in was knowing better than to get comfortable and unpack) from beside his bed- the one closest to the door- and with Sammy under one arm, ran him out the door. John may have been strong, but Dean was fast.

Bag in one hand he lead Sam down the stairs and the first floor landing, through the parking-lot. Unfortunately, a common escape plan. John would steam for a while and then cool down, come back sober and drop them off somewhere else while he picked up a job several states over. Some times were just worse than others. John reprimanded Dean for running off with his brother. Dean snapped back about him being the reason he had to.

Dean had some cash on him, half of it honestly obtained from John, the other half... not so honestly obtained. It would buy them a night or two in another motel in town until John inevitably found them because he paid the motel clerk more to talk than Dean did for him to shut the fuck up.

But it was safe for Sam, if not just for a little while. Dean would find one way or another to get them to a motel, even if he had to hot-wire a car- which he wasn't above- or if they were just stuck walking, which he tried to avoid.

About five minutes down the road he stopped in at the first gas station and lead his brother around back, sitting him down on the curb. He wasn't particularly worried about thugs or any other asshole that might walk up- he could drop them easily. He was concerned with Sam and Sam only. In the faint light from the flickering bulb above the back door- employees only, he assumed- he took a good look at Sam's face. Had a nice bruise forming already. The elder brother swore under his breath and shook his head. "You alright, Sammy?" he asked. His brother hadn't said a word.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is my fault." Sam said, obviously trying to keep from choking on his words. He failed. A sob broke out which was just the doorway for more, his small body shaking as he rocked back against the curb.

Dean shook his head, instantly pulling Sam into his arms, "Shh... It's alright, baby boy. It's not your fault. He's just... he says things you know he doesn't mean. Let him cool off." he said. Dean didn't know why he was defending John. Old habits die hard.

Right now, he just wanted to get somewhere else. Right now, he wanted to get his baby brother somewhere safe. Right now, he wanted to make sure he was okay. Right now, he wanted to kill John with all he had. Right now, he wished for anything he could make it all better for his brother.

Dean placed two fingers under Sam's chin and tilted his head upwards, still holding onto him securely, "This life is a lot of things. Fucked up, difficult, bloody, but I promise you something; it's not your fault. Do you hear me, Sammy? It's not your fault."

Right now, he wanted to leave town with Sam and never look back.


	2. Chapter 2

Well hey y'all! I had only intended for this to be a one-shot, but literally, overnight, I got so much response from it I just had to continue it indefinitely. I mean, how could I not?

I normally don't respond to reviews publicly, but I figured hey, why the hell not?

Mystique Aqua: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

lenail125: That was my first thought, too, believe it or not. I love Protective!Dean, too. I mean, how could you not love him? Glad you enjoyed!

Shoutouts - Dylan. I love you and give you all my hugs from strangers~3

Warnings: Beginnings of Weecest, maybe? (Nothing too graphic, I assure you, I refuse to make Dean a pedophile; I have a strict line on Weecest and tend to not get to anything unless Sam's at least 16 or so. Personal opinions and standards, you see.) Swearing. OHMYGODIMSOSORRYFORSHORTNESS!

Without further ado~

* * *

Dean had gotten them to a cheap motel that night. It had been a twenty, maybe thirty minute walk down the road. It wasn't the best place but it was something. Sam hadn't wanted to talk and he hadn't pushed it. That just gave him time to think. When they got to the motel Sam crawled into bed and fell back asleep, though kept waking up with bad dreams.

He finally settled down when Dean crawled in next to him, holding the younger close in his arms. Dean didn't get much, or really, any, sleep that night. He just stayed up thinking. In just the past six months, this was the fifth time this had happened. Fifth. That was in between John putting Sam up on a pedestal with the mentality of "Mary died for you, you're special." Goddamn it was such a switch when he changed moods. He knew their childhoods, and current lives, weren't that stable but Jesus Fucking Christ this wasn't helping.

John would inevitably show up at their door either sometime in the morning or not long after, a day and a half maximum, and the cycle would repeat. He'd take a few swings at Dean for running off with Sam, and Dean would stand there and take it to make sure Sam didn't have to. To make sure it didn't get any worse. He had to protect his brother, god dammit, and it looked like he was doing a pretty shitty job of it.

He had to do something. For years he'd obeyed John, done everything he said, ditched school and anything else important when he had to, all trying to keep the peace or do it with Sam's best interests at heart. He didn't deserve a life, sure, but he was going to make sure Sam had one if it killed him. Ditching John would be the ultimate offense. But what other choice did he have?

Besides. It didn't have to be permanent. Maybe give him enough time to realize he had to quit his shit for this to work. But where was he supposed to go? Not nearly enough money, no car, nothing, no family he could call. Well. No blood family.

_Wait._

No blood family. Bobby. He could call Bobby. Bobby and John butted heads at the best of times, mostly over John's parenting skills- or lack thereof. He had to understand. He had to. Just for a little while, he needed somewhere to take Sam. Somewhere, anywhere, away for John until something could be fixed. Hell, Dean was more of a parent to Sam than John ever fucking was.

Sam's first word, "Dean."  
Who did he take his first steps to? Dean.  
Who did he call for first when he was in trouble? Dean.

John was barely anything, and shitty at what he was.

Around five am, when Dean was up getting coffee from the tiny shit coffee maker in the room, Sam was still asleep, and he had a call to make. He'd had all night to think about it and his decision was made. Of course he had Bobby's number; he had a copy of all John's important contacts, for emergencies, of course. This warranted use of emergency procedure in his head.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number- actually, he really didn't need to look at the contact sheet. He'd dialed this number so many times for one reason or another that he had it memorized. Five am, Bobby was either still up or just getting up. Either way, the life of a hunter warranted next to no sleep. His heart was beating faster and faster with every ring.

Until Bobby picked up.

"Hello?" Came the older hunter's gravelly voice over the line. He sounded like he had pulled another all-nighter, on god knows what.

"Bobby? It's Dean. I need your help." he said, quiet enough to not wake Sam up

Bobby was instantly more awake, "What's wrong, boy?" he asked. In his head he assumed the worst, though on the exterior he tried to stay calm.

"It's dad. He... He went after Sam." Dean said, trying not to choke. He could be emotionally detached all he wanted, but when it came to his baby brother... something changed in him. "Again."

"Come again, boy?" Bobby asked, voice rigid. He knew John's parenting was... questionable, at best, and though he joked about taking the boys there was something underneath that meant it.

Dean quickly and quietly explained what had happened the night before, and how it was a repeat of similar incidents, some worse than others. How it was all a real fucked up pattern that never seemed to stop and he couldn't let Sam go through it anymore.

"Bobby, I'm sorry to ask, I just... I need somewhere to take him for a little while, get him away from this, and you're the only person I could call for help with t-" Bobby cut him off before he could continue.

"I'm on my way."

Dean rattled off the motel name and where they were and the line went dead. He really hoped it was the cavalry that arrived before the enemy. In that case, he had a plan. Quickly, he snuck down to the front desk and bought another room- almost the last of his cash, but he had to. Told the clerk this was the room he'd be staying in. If John came looking, he'd go to that room. Where they wouldn't be. It wouldn't buy them much time, but it was better than nothing. Now he just waited for Bobby.

Until then, he watched over Sam.

* * *

Bobby was shaking with anger when he put the phone down. God dammit, John. He could strangle that man. Everything he hated in his own father, everything he was terrified to be, everything that had practically ruined his marriage before that damn demon did, John had become. That idjit!

No. Calm down and get the keys. Two, almost three states over, and he had to get there. He was locked and loaded in the old Chevelle in less than ten minutes, on the interstate in less than ten more.

He shouldn't be doing this; John would be outraged, and he wasn't their daddy. He had no right. But he couldn't let those boys go on like that with John acting like that. He wished someone had done this when he was their age, when he needed it. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe his life would have turned out differently all together. Too late to think about all that now, though. This was about Sam and Dean.

If those boys needed a place to stay, he had a room. Even if he didn't, he would have made something work. He loved those boys like they were his own, to be perfectly honest about it. He wished they didn't have to live like this.

The old hunter drove all day, he saw the sun rise and saw it begin to fall again. Around seven that night he found the motel. He searched the parking lot for John's car, hoping he was the one that came first. Hoping Dean had been smart enough to keep them hidden for just a day, all the time they needed.

Bobby found their room in no time, knocking on the door. "Boys, open up!" he said.

Dean checked the peep hole opened the door and smiled when he saw Bobby. Bobby gasped when he saw Sam. The bruise on his face had spread and set in, a deep purple. It was almost sickening. Dean had some of a similar nature under his clothes from where John had shoved him around, and Sam no doubt had a few of those as well.

"Uncle Bobby!" Sam grinned. He couldn't deny it, he was happier around Bobby than he was around John. "What're you doing here...?"

"Hey kid." Bobby said, smiling when the kid came up for a hug.

Dean smiled, glad to see his little brother happy, "We're going to go stay with him for a while." he said, absently looking over at Bobby with a look of pure gratitude. Salvation apparently came in the form of an old man in a trucker hat. For Dean, that was more than good enough.

Bobby got the boys in the car and started driving. Dear god he was tired, but he didn't want to stop in this state. No way in hell. Once they crossed the line into the next state over- which technically made this kidnapping, but he wasn't concerned; hunter's tended to stay away from the law at all costs- he found them a motel for the night. He couldn't keep driving.

Dean was antsy, though. He offered to drive, let Bobby take a rest. It was about ten minutes of debate Bobby gave in; hell, he'd partially _taught_ Dean to drive. John had started to but ran off on another case and instruction had been cut short. As always, Bobby picked up the pieces.

The old hunter finally gave in and let Dean drive. There was slight critique of his driving until they settled in on the mostly-empty interstate and Bobby fell asleep in the passenger side. Much needed sleep. Sam was asleep in the back seat.

Dean got them back to Sioux Falls by six the following morning, and to Bobby's house by six-thirty. Everyone was groggy as they each made their way out of the car and into the house. Bobby moving straight to the kitchen to make coffee and check phones, Sam wandering into the living room to crash on the couch for a little bit longer.

Dean should have seen it coming when Bobby checked his voice mail, and there were nothing but angry voice mails from John.


	3. Chapter 3

Honestly, I should either be asleep or working on my Julius Caesar project. I'm doing neither right now so I'm writing. Didn't expect for this story to be going where it is, but I am enjoying writing it.

lenail125: Thank you for continual reviews, they mean a lot. I hope this lives up to your expectations!

Reviews mean a lot, y'all! They make a girl feel happy and motivate me to get the next chapter up that much sooner!

Warnings: Indecently short, I feel. Swearing.

Also, would any of you be interested in playlists? As in, me putting up what I was listening to while I wrote? Just a concept. I usually enjoy these when I see them, but I'm not sure about doing it myself.

* * *

Sam, who had been sprawled out on the worn, plaid couch in Bobby's living room ready to continue sleeping as he had been in the car, was woken up instantly, like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him, when he heard the voice mails from the other room. Granted, they were loud enough to hear across town.

Panic filled his chest as his heart began to beat faster and faster. Oh god, oh god, oh god. At first he wondered how his dad had thought to call Bobby with such strong conviction. Though he figured, it wouldn't take a genius to figure it out. After each other, the person they were closest with was going to be Bobby. Hunters didn't tend to be close, after all. John may have been many things, a blithering idiot wasn't one.

He stood up from the couch, feeling as though he was walking on pins and needles since his nerves had seemingly fallen asleep. The panic in his chest swelled the more he heard John's voice.

_"Goddammit, if I find out you have my sons, I swear I'll-"_ Bobby barely let them play through the first threat before he deleted them.

_"If I find out you helped them, Bobby, I'll have your-"_ Message deleted.

_"You're not their father, you don't have the right-"_ Deleted.

Sam was so close to hyperventilating it scared him even more than hearing the messages did. He stayed frozen right outside the doorway of the kitchen, paralyzed with fear and anxiety, unable to move if his life was in danger, "D-Dean...?" he called, though it came out in barely more than a choked whisper.

Dean, who had been facing the coffee pot while Bobby was at the answering machine, fists balled up on the counters, coffee growing cold in front of him, instantly softened when he heard Sam's small voice. He turned around and his hardened expression melted away as he walked over to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder, "What's wrong, Sammy...?" he asked.

Bobby didn't bother playing any more. He cleared all the messages and turned to get himself a cup of much needed and well deserved coffee. Sam looked up to his brother, who stood a good foot taller than he did then, though Sam was growing quickly and Dean could see he was going to outgrow him. "Is he coming...?" he asked, fear in his eyes, lip quivering

Dean swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, "I don't know, baby boy. I really don't know." he said, wishing he could honestly give another answer. A better one.

Sam took a sharp breath in before he broke, and it seemed that was the only thing keeping his head above water. "I d-don't wanna go back! N-No more!" he cried, tears beginning to rush down his cheeks in hot, salty trails

The elder Winchester was quick to bring his little brother in close, arms clasped around him, holding him firmly. No John around to go, "Man up, boy." Dean let him let it out. He could scream and kick and thrash, whatever he needed to, or he could just cry. Dean would be there. "Shhh... It's okay, Sammy. I won't let him hurt you anymore. I promise." he said, holding the boy a little tighter

"Or y-you." Sam said quietly. Oh, Sam knew. Sam knew all the times his brother had taken it for him, even though Dean tried to hide it. Dean shook his head and pretended he didn't hear what his brother said. But Bobby did.

Bobby set his coffee cup down and took a couple cautious steps forward, "What's he talking about, Dean?" he asked, in a "you didn't tell me everything, now did you, boy?" tone.

Dean shook his head once more, smoothing Sam's hair down in an attempt to soothe him, "Nothing, Bobby." he mumbled, "He's upset." he said, the other hand rubbing calming circles into his brother's back. Sam pulled away; he let his brother get away with things in front of John, but this was Bobby. Before Dean could react or even know what he was doing, Sam took a hold of his brother's shirt and pushed it upwards.

There displayed for god and everybody to see, were all sorts of bruises. Some on his ribcage from the most recent incident where he'd been tumbled over the dresser and into the television, and others that looked a bit older, from a week or so to almost healed, though they were probably much uglier when they were fresh. He yanked his shirt back down defensively. "At least they're mine, not his. You should see some of his." Dean muttered as Sam wrapped his arms around him once more. Sam had survived some pretty bad ones. The worst ever resulting was a broken rib. Dean could only satisfy John for so long before he went after what he really wanted.

Bobby was outraged. Both of them? He could see what Dean was doing. He threw himself between Sam and John when he could. Like all the times his mother had done the same when he was a child, Bobby thought. What authority did he have here? What could he do? John wouldn't take him to court, wouldn't press charges, not with all the ones that could be thrown back at him in return. As he'd said, hunters avoided the law.

Sam was still choking and gasping, somewhere between anger and hysteria, "I'm s-sick of t-this! S-Sick of him hurting y-you and m-me, s-sick of everything!" he screeched, weakly banging balled up fists into Dean's chest. The elder suppressed a grimace, keeping his hold on his brother steady.

Then the phone rang.

Bobby didn't know whether to let another nasty message come through or pick up. Then again, it could just as likely be a hunter needing him as a reference for something. It was the CDC line ringing this time. He picked it up, "Maverick, CDC." he said, honest to god hoping it was Rufus or anyone but John, really. Dean and Sam were hoping for the same.

Seemed his luck had run out, though that implied he had some to begin with. "Bobby, it's John." came the eldest Winchester's voice. Bobby prepared for war. "Where are my boys?" he demanded. He sounded extremely hung over, irate, and downright dangerous.

What was the old hunter to say? He picked them up and carried them two states over so John wouldn't beat the hell out of them again? There was no truth to, "it won't happen again," or "I'm getting better." And if there was, it was about as rare as anything could get. Bobby liked to believe himself to be an honest man when it came down to it.

But all hunters lie when they need to. It's a skill well learned and well used.

"I don't know, John. Dean called me and said something about heading to Iowa. Didn't want me to tell you, though, so you didn't hear that from me. I don't much appreciate your messages, ya idjit." he said, a snide undertone to his words. If he could sell it, and he knew he could because it wasn't like he didn't have the experience, he could get John to believe him and switch the situation entirely.

John growled, "Iowa? That's real funny, Bobby. Especially considering the night manager at the front desk at the motel Deal holed up in with Sam said he saw them leaving in a beat up '71 Chevelle. I'm not stupid, Bobby. You can bring them to me or I can come get them, and I promise you, you don't want that." he hissed.

Just as he figured; Dean gave the man fifty to keep his mouth shut, John must have given him a hundred to talk. Figures. No one lies for you anymore, what's the world coming to?

Bobby went on the defensive instantly. "You listen to me, John Winchester. If your boys come to me with bruises and broken bones, you're pretty damn stupid if you don't think I'm going to do something. And you're even stupider if you think I'm going to let you in my front door." With that, he slammed the phone down.

Sam was hyperventilating wildly, still clinging to Dean, who was trying to calm him down, get him to breathe in and out, still rubbing his back soothingly. Bobby picked up his coffee cup again and finished off what was left in it before making another cup, Irish coffee this time.

"Dean, go take your brother to the living room. I'm going to make something for breakfast, seeing as none of us have eaten anything in god knows how long." he said. Sure, it was going to be something simple, probably eggs and toast, but it was more than John would have done, and it didn't come out of a plastic microwavable dish.

Dean nodded, "Yes sir," and lead his sobbing, shaking brother to the living room. He sat him down on the couch, not once taking his arms from around him, holding him close, securely. Sam felt safe in his brothers arms, safe away from John, states away. He didn't want to see John show up at Bobby's door. He didn't want to face punishment for leaving with Dean. He didn't want to hear something else that was apparently his fault.

In the kitchen, Bobby scrambled eggs in a pan, answering the phone when it rang with another hunter, "Yes, he's one of our best agents, of course he's got clearance for that, you idjit," and ready to hang up if John called again. He didn't.

The old hunter thought quickly. How long did he have to come up with some sort of plan, some sort of idea, something. By this point he was past questioning whether or not he'd done the right thing and now questioning what he was going to do to handle the situation. He wasn't going to hurt John unless he really needed to, wasn't going to kill him for damn sure. He couldn't do that to those boys.

He was out of options. Or, more accurately, he never had any to begin with. Was he supposed to run with them? How long could that go on? They deserved stability, dammit. Could he try reasoning with John? Not in this state. He didn't think John would listen to reason.

What was left. Improvising. That was his only option left, so it seemed. It was such a daunting concept he almost burned the eggs.

"Soup's on!" he called

For once, he didn't have a plan, and for once he hoped that would work. 


	4. Chapter 4

Here I am again, I hope you enjoy! Thank you to lenail125 again, reviews mean a lot! I appreciate them all!

Warning: Swearing

Enjoy~

* * *

Bobby's mind had been running a mile a minute since he'd hung up with John. Turned out his instincts wouldn't let him _not_ have a plan. He got the boys something to eat, though Sam mostly just pushed his food around his plate, and started working. He didn't like this idea. There was a good chance it'd get him killed or thrown in jail, but something in him wouldn't let him stand aside and see this happen. Definitely not. Besides; he was Bobby Singer. He could do this.

The first step to any good Hunter's plan; forgery. He'd perfected his techniques over the years, and though he'd helped other hunters when required, he never gave away all of his secrets. Not completely, anyway. He began forging documents as quickly as his resources and hands would allow. He'd acquired a few tools to do this over the years, with the benefit of being one of the few if not only hunters that still had a home and wasn't bouncing from motel to motel with all their possessions in the trunk of their car.

By the time he was done, he'd committed a nice felony. Documents stating he was Uncle Bobby- well, technically he was Uncle Bobby to them, but this made it official- and had temporary custody of the boys. This was a horrible, horrible plan for having to involve the law but what could he say? This was somewhat his last resort. He didn't want to take two boys away from their father, even if it was temporary, but he didn't have a _choice_. Not this time.

Bobby was good at covering his tracks. The impersonation of FBI and CDC bosses could never be traced to him, much ado to a private phone line Rufus has help him set up many years ago. He still paid taxes and still ran his salvage yard under his own name. He was, when you looked at it properly, one of the cleanest hunters out there. If anyone could risk getting notice by Big Brother, it was going to be him.

John wasn't that lucky. He probably had a whole string of charges attached to his name that would get thrown back at him in the wrong situation, not to mention apparent neglect and inability to offer a stable environment for his children. Someone could probably throw a psych evaluation in there something and say he suffered a mental breakdown after his wife died coupled with PTSD from serving in the Marines and the boys would end up in a foster home indefinitely while he was evaluated for mental stability.

If he could swing this, he was going to change things. Get the boys enrolled in school, the same school for more than two months, mind you. No more hunting, no more weapons training, no more hunter life for teenagers who should be worried about prom dates and zits, not ammo and "did you remember the salt at the door." He was going to do his damndest to make things right. The was John should have done it.

The more Bobby thought about it, the more faith he had in his plan. He actually had the upper hand. Hot damn, when did that ever happen? Hunters were usually the unluckiest sons of bitches to ever live. This was definitely a new feeling to him. Bobby Singer, lucky. Who'd of ever thought it possible?

Definitely not him.

* * *

Dean had stayed upstairs with Sam while Bobby did what he had to in his makeshift office space that took up the entirety of the living room. His first reaction would have been to offer to help, see if Bobby needed anything, but he knew taking care of Sam came first, making sure he was okay. Bobby understood perfectly. Dean's first priority was always to look out for his little brother, make sure Sammy was okay. Everything else could come second or last for as much as he gave a damn.

Dean had lead them over to the guest room, sitting his brother down on the bed, and was then quickly pulled with him. Dean gladly obliged, leaning back against the head of the bed, Sam in his arms, holding onto him for dear life, ever so slightly rocking him back and forth in an attempt to be soothing, to calm him down.

Sam had calmed down some, but really, not much. He was worried about facing John. Worried about him showing up. No matter how much Dean tried to assure him and soothe him, Sam was having none of it. Sam could feel his heart beating in his chest, like thunder in his ears, his nerves numbed and his hands shaking. It was inevitable. John was going to show up and they were going to get it. They were going to be punished for even leaving the motel room that night, let alone going to another motel and then leaving that one with Bobby. It was just a wait now. Just time until John showed up and hell rained down on them.

Dean wanted to kill John for this. What he'd done to his little brother. The mess he'd become because of what he'd done. He knew Mary wouldn't have wanted this. How could a mother want this for her children? Mary wouldn't have wanted John to do this. She couldn't have. She would have wanted him to try to make the best of a bad situation and keep on living, take Dean to his first day of school and raise him and Sam in the house they'd bought together.

The elder brother didn't know what to do. So he did the best thing he did know how to do; he held onto his brother and tried his best to calm him, to let him know that everything was going to be okay, that he was going to protect him and so was Uncle Bobby. It was all going to be okay, even if he had to make it that way himself.

Dean didn't give a damn about himself- he never had, it was how he had been raised. He didn't care how many bruises he ended up with, so long as they were on his body and not on his brother's. He'd been raised to put Sammy above himself, and honestly, he didn't need John to tell him. The difference was that Dean didn't get wasted and switch opinions. Violently.

The day eked on by agonizingly. Sam tried to get some sleep but it wasn't working out well for him. Dean stayed awake as long as his brother did, almost dozing off a few times; he didn't really remember what day it was and which was the last one he got sleep on, but in situations like these, adrenaline, rage, and above all the need to protect his brother kept him awake just fine. That, and excessive amounts of coffee.

Around eight that night Sam had managed to drop off to sleep, physically and mentally, emotionally completely exhausted. He'd refused to eat anything all day and barely left Dean's side, mostly because he was too nervous or scared to do otherwise. Dean stayed with him the entire day. They'd drifted from the guest room to the couch to short walks around the property to stretch their legs all day, and by that night, they'd ended up asleep on the couch, Sam holding onto Dean.

Bobby had watched them all day, unsure of what to say, other than the silent look he gave Dean that said, "I've got it under control, don't worry." Though telling Dean not to worry about what happened to his little brother was like telling him not to breathe; impossible.

The boys had managed to sleep for a couple hours then, Bobby still awake and downing coffee, contemplating whether or not he should just stick it in an IV and if that would be more effective, when headlights were seen pulling up into his yard, the dull white lights gleaming through the front windows. Dean, the lighter sleeper of the two, woke up first, holding Sam a little tighter on instinct.

John.

Bobby moved from his desk, freshly forged papers in reaching distance, "Dean, take Sam upstairs. Don't come down unless I get you." he said, voice calm, cool, and controlled. Dean nodded in silent "yes sir," not wanting to wake Sammy, so he simply picked him up like he used to when he was a child, quickly and quietly carrying him upstairs to the guest room, closing and locking the door behind him.

John stormed up to the screen door, yanking it open violently as he banged on the solid storm door behind it, "Bobby, open up! I know you've got them!" he yelled. Bobby silently hoped that his voice didn't carry and Sam wouldn't wake up. "Now or never, idjit." he thought, grabbing the stapled stack of papers and walking to the door, opening it to face John. The eldest Winchester looked angry to the point Bobby thought he might bust a vein in his head or stroke out.

"If you want to talk, we do it outside, and you'd do best to not raise your voice at me." Bobby said, waiting for John to step back before walking out on the porch himself. He knew John wouldn't hurt him- there was a code of honor among hunters you didn't break unless you were absolutely suicidal.

Bobby closed the door behind him, eyes locked on John, "Now you listen to me, John Winchester. Dean calls me up and tells me you've kicked the snot out of Sam and then I found out you've done the same to him when he gets here. Do you honestly expect me to leave those boys there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice controlled.

John snarled at him, "Don't talk about things you don't understand, you old drunk." he snapped, fist balled up at his side and ready to strike. Bobby eyed it, as if planning out his own form of defense should John decide to actually attack him. Bobby ignored John's comment and went on, holding up the papers in his hand,

"You know what these say, John? These say I'm Uncle Bobby. That you're off doing god knows what and only god cares, and I've got temporary custody. Do you know what that means, Johnny boy?" he asked, trying to keep snide sarcasm out of his voice

John went livid, entire frame shaking, "How dare you. What right do you have! I'll call you in for kidnapping and forg-" He didn't get to finish before Bobby cut him off.

"Is that so? My name's cleaner than yours, you idjit. Let's see what comes up with your name when you take me in. I'm dying to see, princess." Bobby spat back. Alright, so he couldn't entirely keep the sarcasm out of his voice. What could he say? It was who he was.

John didn't want to admit it but he knew the man was right. The law was a risk he couldn't take, then he'd really be in deep shit. He wasn't going to give up his boys just like that, though. John was violently stubborn among many other things. "Get the boys out here." he snarled.

"No. I'm not doing anything for you. Go clean up your act if you can and then come back and we'll talk. I'm not giving you anything." Bobby said firmly

John was fuming. He refused to leave here empty handed, "Boys! Come out here! We're leaving!" he shouted, hoping they'd hear him wherever they were

Dean heard. All the way upstairs he heard his father's booming voice, trying to cover Sam's ears so he didn't hear it. He wasn't taking his brother down to that man, he'd sooner swim through lakes of fire in hell than do that.

When no response came, John practically growled before turning on his heels. "This isn't over, Singer. You just fucking wait. I'll get what I want." he snapped as he got in the Impala, speeding out of the driveway- or what passed for one- seconds later, probably off to the nearest bar in town. Bobby actually hoped the sheriff would be stalking the bar tonight, and he hoped John would get thrown in jail for a night or so. That gave them more time.

Oh, he knew John would be back sooner rather than later. He knew this was far from over. But as for this small battle, this first little triumph, he had won, and the boys were safe, even if only for now.

That was what mattered. He just wished John would see it that way.


	5. Chapter 5

This felt kind of rushed, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. I know I've said this before, but reviews are awesome. The best kind of motivation!

(Trigger) Warning: Self harm  
Regular Warning: Swearing

* * *

Dean couldn't enjoy peace. It was such an unnatural concept to him that he didn't understand it and therefore could not enjoy it properly. After John had left that night, he knew he should have been calm, relieved, but the thought that it wasn't over yet prevented from having any momentary peace. Luckily he had been able to shield his brother from his father's screaming and Sam hadn't woken up, but he had found out about what had happened in the morning. Dean wasn't sure whether he should tell Sam or not, to worry him with it, but he figured Sam would be more at peace knowing he slept through the worst and it was over, and that anything else that came would be a long way off and Dean wouldn't let it near him.

Dean had to wonder something, though. What if he went with John...? If he promised to go with John and obey him on the whim that his brother could stay with Bobby. Be safe with Bobby. Granted Dean would miss his brother more than anything in this world, but if it was what was best for him, he would do it in a heartbeat. Still, he had a feeling that John wouldn't be pacified for long, as he rarely was when it came to getting what he wanted.

Bobby, on the other hand, was prepared for the inevitable of when John returned but he was acting as if that wasn't happening any time soon. He was thinking about other things, like enrolling the boys in school and seeing if he could work out a somewhat more permanent- even if this was to be temporary unless John never got his shit together or worse came to worse- living arrangement for them that wasn't the bare bones guest room, which was actually the most decorated of the two in the house.

It was the last week of April and he was on the "no" side of enrolling them for this term. Only a little over a month left in the school year and he didn't even want to think about how behind they would be. He settled on working something out through the summer and then getting them enrolled in the fall.

It was really unlike the old hunter to be this optimistic with things. To think this far ahead with positivity. Part of it was based on his knowledge of John and the likelihood that he would get his shit together very soon, part of it was the fact that deep down, he really did make a great father, even if he told himself otherwise. Even if his own father had told him otherwise. He wasn't breaking anything. He was fixing what had already been broken by someone else.

Sam had started to unwind piece by piece and day by day, two days having passed since the night John arrived. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, no doubt, but as time wore on and he didn't see his father's car in the driveway, he began to become more at rest. He knew John would be coming back at some point, it was very unlikely that he would give the boys up just like that. Unless he really did blame Sam that much...

That had stuck with him.

He'd never known his mom. Dean barely talked about her, and when she was brought up, he could see the pain in his eyes. Losing someone when you barely knew them and yet needed them more than anything. He didn't dare open the subject with his dad. As much as Dean tried to tell him that what John said was horseshit, Sam had to think; was there any truth to it? Maybe it was his fault. He knew the story, what happened that night. Enough of it anyway. Was it really his fault?

His fault that his mother was dead and his dad hated him, his fault that his dad had uprooted them and that his brother had to sacrifice so much? Dean always said he didn't mind. But Sam knew he deserved better. This wasn't normal. They all deserved better. Things should have been different.

He shouldn't have been born.

"It's all my fault." Sam whispered quietly, to himself and no one else

The youngest Winchester was currently sitting on the bathroom floor of the upstairs bathroom at Bobby's house. Dean was in the connecting garage working on a clunker Bobby had recently acquired. He didn't want to leave Sam on his own, but Sam insisted he was fine and just had to go to the bathroom, Dean could go ahead on outside, he'd go meet him in a minute.

Really, he just wanted to gather his thoughts for the first time in a few days. He didn't like to keep things for Dean, it just ended up happening that way with things like this. Things he didn't think Dean would understand. The fact that he was hurt and broken and it wasn't just because of John, but this whole fucking mess. Had he really caused it? Did he really deserve John's abuse? Maybe he did. Maybe he deserved to hurt. It was his lifelong punishment for what he'd done while still in a crib.

Tears were beginning to creep out of Sam's eyes, though he quickly wiped them away with a worn plaid sleeve. This was all his fault. John was right.

"I did this." Sam choked, head leaned back against a horribly tacky wallpapered wall

It was then he decided that John was actually right. If you looked at it, he was right. If Sam had never existed, Mary would be alive. Dean and John and Mary could have had normal lives. If this had never happened, John would love him.

It was then he decided to pull the knife out of his pocket.

Part of John's rules and Dean enforcing them; always have something on you. Sam carried a butterfly knife, one John had given him when he was ten. He'd learned how to use it by trial and error and eventually become skilled with it. He knew just how to use it.

Taking hold of one of the handle scales he flipped it open, eyes catching the glint off the shining blade. He deserved to be punished. He'd brought this all on himself.

Where was he going to do this? Somewhere he could hide. Somewhere he could keep close to him. He decided on his forearm, right arm. Pushing his sleeve back, he primed the blade against his skin, pressing down on it before slowly slicing it across; once, twice, three times before wiping the blade on his other sleeve and slipping it back in his pocket. Three beautiful new slices, blood flowing freely down his arm. They burned like hell, but he simply gritted his teeth, wiped his arm clean, taped himself up, and pulled his sleeve down.

He felt alright. He felt better. Between John and hunting and the life it gave them... He'd been building up for a while. He finally felt a release, one he deserved. What was so wrong about that?

Now to go join Dean and Bobby in the garage.

* * *

The day had gone well. Dean and Bobby had worked on the car, Sam had managed to keep his new found secret to himself, they'd actually sat down and had something for dinner that Bobby had made and didn't come out of a paper bag or microwave- he'd only made spaghetti, but it was still better than anything they could have ever gotten with John- and then showered and headed off to bed. It felt nice. Calm. _Normal_.

Sam showered and changed from one long-sleeved shirt to another, which wasn't unusual since that was their normal wardrobe anyway, so he considered himself lucky, and then crawled into bed, naturally gravitating to Dean. No matter what that knife did for him this afternoon, Dean made him feel so much better. Dean was safe. Dean was love. Dean was _home_.

The boy wrapped his arms around his big brother, to which Dean returned by pulling the boy in closely, "Goodnight, Sammy." he said, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

They'd actually fallen asleep around the same time, which was unusual, but Dean was, once again, disturbed and woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of something against the side of the house. Gently sliding away from Sam's grasp, he got up and went over to the open window- it had been nice weather that night and he had wanted to enjoy it, as they so rarely had the chance to- to see the top rung of a ladder against it.

That wasn't unusual at all.

Before he had a chance to react, it was John who climbed up the ladder. Dean pulled his gun from the old bedside table and held it up- he couldn't shoot John, he wouldn't, but it was his reaction all the same out of nothing but habit. "Get out." he said, wanting to look back to make sure Sam was still asleep.

John was having none of his shit, "I don't have time for this right now, Dean. I got a lead on... On the thing that might have killed Mary. It's in Maine. You and your brother get up, get ready and meet me by the car in five minutes or so help me god I'll drag you out the window myself." he growled, glaring at Dean, "You've already caused enough trouble, you and your fucking brother, you owe me this."

Dean didn't know what came over him. He never would have stood up to John, lest he get a fist in his face, so he usually just said "yes sir" and moved on. "We don't owe you anything right now. So leave and come back when you can be the parent _he_ needs you to be."

John didn't want to hear that. He decked Dean, hitting him once in the nose and then coming back again for his jaw, "Don't talk to me like that, boy. You will do as I say." he snapped, getting louder. Louder to wake Sam up, apparently, who nearly screamed as he backed up and almost fell out of the bed. He took a split second to look between his father and his brother before running out of the room.

He returned less than sixty seconds later with Bobby who was armed with a shotgun. "John, get outta my house, or I'll shoot ya out the window ya came in." he growled, moving in front of both of the boys, Dean who was on the floor with a bloody nose and Sam who was next to him, clinging to him.

"Not without my boys." John growled, though his tone switched quickly, almost becoming one of desperation, "They're all I have left, Bobby. I'm not letting you keep me from them. I love them."

"You got a funny way of showing it." Bobby fired back, aiming the shotgun in his hands, "Now go. Come back and manage to be in the same room with your boys for more than ten minutes without causing injury, and we'll talk." he said.

Gun pressed to John's back, Bobby lead him out of the house, though Sam didn't relax any until he heard the Impala peel out of the driveway several minutes later. When Bobby came back, Sam could see John didn't go quietly. Blood running down his bearded chin from what looked like a cut lip, beginnings of a black eye beginning to show, and probably s couple other things he couldn't see in the dim lighting. Of course Bobby wasn't concerned with himself then.

Dean had been right, though; this was far from over. 


	6. Chapter 6

Okaaay. I have no excuses for why it's almost been a year and I haven't updated this. I am super mega sorry. For reals. My life's been moving on in the fast lane and I forgot to write. I feel bad for leaving you guys hanging, though. I do, really, I swear.

And in response to a review from zerogravityganja, Sam's 14 (soon 15) and Dean's 18 (soon 19). Because of this, if this does veer into Weecest territory, nothing extremely graphic or advanced.

Usual warnings: Mentions of abuse, self harm, swearing.

I apologize for how short this might turn out. I'm just getting back into the swing of things, so this chapter won't be up to par. Bear with me, it'll get better.

* * *

The morning after John had stormed it was a quiet one. Sam wasn't much for words himself and Dean wasn't much for pushing him, neither was Bobby. Everyone pushed breakfast around and kept their eyes to the table in awkward silence until Bobby decided enough was enough and rose with the words "covering phones today, gotta get on it" mumbled under his breath.

Sam took the opportunity to slip out and excuse himself to the bathroom, leaving Dean to realize clean-up duty was his, grimacing as he began to pick up plates and forks and move them to the sink.

Once in the bathroom Sam locked the door behind him, leaning against the wall next to it and sliding down to the floor. Even through his jeans he could feel the cold porcelain tile, but he didn't mind. It was blazing hot outside, as it tended to be this time of the year. He pulled his knife out of his pocket, a shudder running through his body as his fingers met the cool, metallic handle scales.

What did this make of him, doing this to himself? It was apparent Dean hated himself. The way he talked, the things he did. Sam could remember coming back from school one day and Dean reeked of marijuana and was high as a kit. He could remember Dean sneaking beers and drinking until he was sick as a dog. He remembered Dean getting in fights for no reason other than he could. Things like that weren't the signs of someone who wanted to take care of themself, definitely not of someone who liked themselves.

Had Dean ever taken a knife to his skin, for any reason other than to prove he was human, and not some thing that went bump in the night? He didn't know, and wasn't about to start asking questions. Part of him was afraid of seeing Dean vulnerable like that, because if Dean was broken, then what was he? He'd looked up to his brother forever and always, and he was sure he wouldn't know how to cope if that image was shattered.

So he decided to keep this to himself. Sam didn't much favor drinking, he'd never tried drugs, and though he was good at fighting, it did him no good. It didn't seem to satiate him like it did Dean. This was how he was going to do things. This is how he was going to keep a smile on his face, how he was going to keep from cracking, how he was going to cope with this world of shit he was tied down to.

Sam flicked the shining silver blade out and yanked up his sleeve. There were the marks of his previous adventures, and next to them in neat little rows would be the marks of this escapade.

Holding the sharpened side of the blade to his skin, he pressed down and dragged it across, watching as flesh separated and blood slid down pale skin. It stung, it burn, god did it hurt, but it helped. He made one line, then another and then two more after that. He was about to go for a fifth when there was a knock on the door.

"C'mon Sammy, Ms. December can wait. We're going into town." Came Dean's voice. Of course that's what his brother thought he was doing. Of fucking course.

He quickly cleaned up, though it was a hack job at best, and pulled his sleeves down before opening up the door, all in thirty second's time. "Why? I thought Uncle Bobby had to watch phones." the boy said

"He does. So we're making a supply run for him." Dean replied, taking his brother by the arm and walking him down the stairs.

Bobby stopped them on the way out the door, handing Dean some cash and a scrap piece of paper, most likely a grocery list, and then the keys to one of the cars in the yard. The two brothers climbed in a car- an old El Camino that needed some serious upholstery work- and headed off to town.

This left Bobby to work. The old hunter had calls to take, as well as a few of his own to make. He still didn't know what he was going to do about those boys. Whatever fatherly instincts he had decided to kick in the moment he pulled them from that hotel room and they weren't going to leave him alone until this was taken care of.

The paperwork he'd thrown at John was just a band-aid, really. It would hold and hold well, but only for so long. John was a stubborn goddamn man and Bobby needed to put something together fast.

He was still on the fence, though. On the fence between "you can't let these boys get treated like this" and "you ain't their daddy, what right do you have?" So it was up to the more rational- and sober- part of him to figure it the fuck out.

What the hell was he supposed to do? His lifestyle was better than John's but still not the best to raise a child in for Christ's sake. He could clean up, he could get a day job, he could... not have bodies buried in the back yard so often. But there was no getting out of the hunter's life, not now and not ever.

Well, balls.


End file.
